Percy says that he's okay. He swears over and that Fred's death doesn't haunt him, and you almost start to believe him.
Almost.
But you can feel the way he holds you just a little too tightly, clinging to you like a frightened child clinging to his favorite blanket. When you kiss him, you can taste the pain and desperation that's heavy on his tongue.
And when he sleeps, tossing and turning, you can hear his unspoken but oh so loud plea of "Save me, save me."
You don't know what to do, but, somehow, you know you have to make it okay.